


When Two Sympathetic Hearts Meet

by Jedi Buttercup (jedibuttercup)



Category: AUSTEN Jane - Works, Mansfield Park - Jane Austen
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Mild Sexual Content, Post-Canon, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-08-18 20:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20197768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedibuttercup/pseuds/Jedi%20Buttercup
Summary: It is not to be supposed that very many days passed between Miss Fanny Price surrendering her surname for that of Bertram, and that young woman finding herself once again looking out an open window at Mansfield Park upon a twilight scene.





	When Two Sympathetic Hearts Meet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleRaven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleRaven/gifts).

> Title from one of Mary Crawford's quotes from Lovers' Vows: "When two sympathetic hearts meet in the marriage state, matrimony may be called a happy life." Fanny and Edmund are one of my favorite Austen couples; I was delighted to be assigned to write them for you, and hope you enjoy this moment of domestic felicity.

It is not to be supposed that very many days passed between Miss Fanny Price surrendering her surname for that of Bertram, and that young woman finding herself once again looking out an open window at Mansfield Park upon a twilight scene. Though how different were her circumstances from the last such memorable occasion!

Where once she had been taught to feel herself the least and the last within that house, comforted chiefly by her aunt Bertram's absent-minded dependence and her cousin Edmund's affectionate esteem, she had unaccountably become almost the favourite: every day sought out at Thornton Lacey, or brought thence by her uncle; constantly assured by Lady Bertram that only Susan's advent had made her surrendering Fanny's company at all supportable; even looked upon with a far more considerate, and approving eye by her cousin Tom. Even her cousin Julia had penned a very pretty letter upon the occasion of Fanny and Edmund's marriage, from the lodgings she and Mr. Yates – fortunately, it seemed, much better fitted for the rôle of husband than of actor – had engaged in town. A livelier temperament might have met the change with gloating triumph; but Fanny could only stare out at the stars above the darkened landscape in wondering contentment, marvelling that such happiness should now be hers.

The moment wanted only her new husband's attendance to be complete – and as though the thought had summoned his presence, she felt the touch of his hand warm upon her arm, and glanced up to meet a look so warmly loving as to drive all idle thoughts of past struggle and endurance from her mind.

"My dear Mrs. Bertram," he said, smiling down at her.

Hearing that name from Edmund's lips still sent as much of a thrill through her as any of the other wonders of the newly wedded state. For nearly nine years she had dreamed of it, and despaired, and finally resigned herself to expect its assumption by another; but now it was finally, for ever hers. 

"My dearest Edmund," Fanny replied, beaming back at him. She felt brimful with joy; even the brilliancy of the unclouded night outside, so sublime a view as would normally have inspired thoughts of poetry, could not compete with the glow within her heart. "Is it not a lovely night?"

"No lovelier than the company," he answered. His gaze did not leave hers as he lifted her hand, pressing a lingering kiss against the back of her fingers; she felt her breath catch at the intentness of his expression.

"I am already yours, Edmund; you need not feel obliged to continue to offer me such compliments," she objected, at least half in earnest. Marriage and the accompanying security of affection had lessened Fanny's previous fears of being paid too much attention, lest the observer find – as too often had her aunt Norris – some fresh fault in her to scrutinize; but the lessons of her childhood would take time to be completely overwritten.

"My dear Fanny," he said, with a wryly affectionate expression. "You are mine, and I am yours; and perhaps if there had been anything of _obligation_ about our courtship, I might hear you speak of yourself so without complaint. But I have thought of you as one of the dearest objects I have on earth for nearly as long as I've known you; now that I have learnt to worship you in earnest, you must not imagine I will ever grow tired of doing so."

The cool night air wafting in from the window was a welcome balm against the flaming blaze of her cheeks; it was almost too much for Fanny to bear. But happily, as a married woman, she now had one means of stopping such overwhelming attentions that she had not had available before; she set the hand that was not currently captured by her husband's against his cheek, and feeling very bold, leaned up to stop Edmund's mouth with her own.

For a long moment, the rest of the world ceased to exist; Edmund's arms shifted to slide around her waist, pulling her most indecorously against him as they kissed. Delight thrilled through her, and a waking passion that contrasted strongly with all the habits of restraint she had been taught under that very roof. She would never understand the choices her cousin Maria had made, but in such moments of excitement, she could _almost_ comprehend what had led her to them. Had _any_ of them known what love truly was, with such examples as they had been shewn, before stumbling headlong into it themselves?

The sound of footsteps approaching broke their idyll all too soon, and Fanny pulled back, smiling up at Edmund's slightly dazed expression. "And what of other methods of evading compliments? Will you forbid me those as well?" she teazed.

"I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours," he replied, laughing; "as you well know. And so you have found a method of winning an argument that cannot be objected to, for it benefits us both. You are too good for me, Fanny."

"And if I object to that statement, too?" she replied, giddily.

His gaze warmed again; and if his father had not chosen that moment to bid them in to supper, she had no doubt there would have been a repetition of those proofs of affection they had just spent many moments enjoying. But pleasures voluntarily delayed, she had recently begun to learn, could be all the sweeter for it as well; Fanny set her hand once more in Edmund's with a light heart and did not regret the summons.

Later that night, in the privacy of their bedroom, she sought him out again in front of another window, this one furnished with a cushioned bench. Edmund had seated himself there whilst removing his boots; Fanny joined him, clad only in her nightrail, the moment the servants had left them for the evening. A brief moment of self-consciousness seized her as she sat down beside him; she still felt, from time to time, as though she were the thief of some other woman's domestic felicity, and that surely she would be discovered a fraud and sent back to Portsmouth once more. Fortunately Edmund, the cause of these fears, was also her best defence against them.

"I meant it, you know," he said. The flickering candlelight limned his profile in warm tones, and lit sparks in the depths of his gaze; she felt seen, without feeling _exposed_, in a way she never did in anyone else's presence. Of all the rest of her acquaintance, only William and Susan made her feel half so valued, and even they not so dear. "I do not know what I was about, all those months I looked elsewhere only to find fault, when you were right before my eyes. How you must have felt, when I called you the perfect model of a woman, confiding all my hopes and fears, while presuming I knew better than you about your own! I wonder sometimes that you never gave me up as a fool."

The name of Crawford was seldom spoken under their roof, as neither could yet hear it with complete equanimity; the marks the brother and sister had left behind in their lives would linger far longer than Henry and Mary had staid at the parsonage. Yet even that was not entirely a bad thing, as it had taught them each to better value what they already had.

"I did come very close once," she teazed him gently. "Waiting every day in Portsmouth for the letter you had promised. If things had happened differently–"

"But they didn't," he replied, reaching up to trace a thumb down the column of her throat. "And I will spend every day of the rest of my existence proving to you how superior you are, in each and every way."

Fanny shivered; then she reached for him again, fitting her mouth once more to his.

Of the delightful sensations roused in her as he pulled her into his lap to more thoroughly express his appreciation, ruching her nightrail up about her waist to admit the touch of warm, skilled fingers, or in him as she freed him from his pants, daringly inviting even more scandalous activities, no modest pen could adequately express; but as a means of attempting to convince one another that _they_ were each the luckiest person in existence, they were very expressive indeed. Fortunately, it was just such an argument as neither could ever win, but both would happily spend the rest of their lifetimes indulging.

"My dear Mrs. Bertram," he murmured again, much later, as they hovered on the brink of sleep. The candles had been blown out, the couple much more modestly concealed beneath the bedcovers; but the warm glow of intimacy remained, linking them in perfect contentment.

"My dear Edmund," she repeated, and smiled, wrapped close in his arms as they drifted off to slumber.


End file.
